The Person in the Mirrors
by 13 Pairs of Wings
Summary: Lord Arthur Kirkland was a self-centred man. Noblemen often are. Eventually his greed and selfishness is noticed by a most powerful being. The punishment? Living eternally trapped in his prized mirrors' reflections, sad and alone. Until one day he meets a most unlikely hero. USUK/UKUS, AU, two-shot.
1. Part 1

Like so many others, this story begins a time long ago, in a castle on a hill...

...where a wealthy lord once lived. He was a greedy man, too greedy and self-centred for his own good.

In fact, he was so vain that he ordered every mirror-maker in the land to make him their most beautiful mirror. If they refused, he took their wives and children as slaves in his large castle on the hill as payment.

It was not long before the lord had an entire hall of elegant mirrors, and soon every wall in the castle was covered with the mirror-makers' most beautiful mirrors. Neither kitchen nor loo was spared. The dining room fireplace was over-shadowed by a great mirror above its mantle so that the lord could look at himself as he ate.

The selfishness of the lord in the castle on the hill was brought to the attention of a wandering sparrow. And the sparrow told the owl, who whispered it to the squirrel, who ran to tell the most important creature he knew.

By now, the message of the self-centred lord in the castle on the hill had made its way rather far. The news had travelled all the way to a forgotten magic wood deep in the uncharted wild.

The squirrel ran fast and alerted the wise dragon that a human had gotten too powerful and vain for his own good. The dragon grew very angry at this. He leaped up with a mighty roar and flew off to the castle on the hill.

A loyal knight rushed to warn the lord of a great beast that flew with speed toward his castle on the hill, but the lord scoffed and dismissed the threat.

The knight then turned to the villagers in the town below the hill and warned them of the angry dragon that flew toward the castle on the hill and their little town. The villagers rose in an mad panic, marching to the castle gates and pounding on them until a frightened maid let them in.

The dragon flew from the north while the villagers marched in from the east. The self-centred lord knew that his reign had come to an end, and so he fled to his most treasured place, the hall of mirrors; where the first beautiful reflection had been hung on the wall. Now only the best and most elegant mirrors remained there.

The window next to the lord suddenly shattered to pieces, and the raging dragon flew in through the opening. He turned to the vain lord and proclaimed, "You have been very selfish and vain. I will not allow this to continue. You must be taught a lesson for such horrible wrong doings."

With that, the dragon reared up on his hind legs and threw the frightened lord into the beautiful mirror behind him.

But, the lord did not hit the glass. Instead, he fell through it like a bird through an open window and was trapped in the world beyond, forced to suffer in a place without people where he could no longer gaze at his reflection.

It is said that he still resides there, pacing through the mirrors of his castle in eternal solitude; forever with neither a friend nor company of any kind.

* * *

**Present day England: The Castle of Mirrors**

"And here we have the famous Hallway of Mirrors, where it is said that the castle's lord would walk up and down every day to stare at his reflection." The smile of the tour guide was fake and plastic, the audience bored.

"Imagine that~ A hallway of mirrors in the castle of mirrors," a curly brown-haired teen whispered to the person standing next to him. The blond, in turn, was flirting with a girl talking with her friends next to a floor-to-ceiling glass reflecting the hall.

The brown-haired man frowned and gently elbowed the tall, stylish sixteen year-old next to him.

"Ohonon~ why 'ello ladies— oopfft! 'ey!" the man said in a thick French accent.

"Oh, stop it, Francis. I'm pretty sure the brunet and her friend are taken. _Lo siento_, but you were doomed from the start, _amigo_."

"But! _Mon ami_, what about the red-head?" the Frenchman practically purred, his accent all but disappeared now.

A care-free grin passed over the tanned face. The green-eyed teen put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I thought I'd take a shot at her. She looks pretty enough."

As the chatting group of visiting students passed through the hall—and past the three girls—a lone man slid an iPod from his pocket to turn up the volume and drown out the crowds.

He was not a very wealthy man by appearance. No, this college student wore the traditional t-shirt and jeans of an American visiting overseas on a low budget; a person with little chance to treat himself to a bit of sightseeing.

Still, the famous castle had drawn him in and caught his interest long enough for him to buy a ticket to tour its tall halls and extravagant rooms.

The man glanced into one of the many still preserved and relatively clear mirrors. ("The villagers, in the town we now call Clarkson, thought the place was haunted. They didn't dare break or even touch the glass, for fear of the lord's ghost coming after them.") Looking back at him was a well-built blond with wire framed glasses and slightly baggy pants worn under a comfy sweatshirt.

He looked around at a reflected version of the grand hall behind him. The passing tour guides had talked of a ghost that supposedly roamed in the castle's mirrors. Something about it popping up in the corner of the picture, or hiding behind things just out of sight.

Which was, of course, ridiculous, because what kind of ghost haunted only reflections?

A shriek pierced through the lyrics of _Welcome to the Black Parade_, and the college student whipped around. One of the three girls by the largest of the mirrors was on the ground, several feet away from where she had stood before. Even through the loud rock music, he could hear her bordering on hysteric words.

"I-I was just checking my lipstick, because you know, a girl needs to make sure she looks nice, a-and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw this... this c-corpse!" She proceeded to break into a sobbing mess while her other two friends tried to comfort their fallen comrade.

The man paused the song playing and was about to go help the poor girl when a muffled voice came from beside him.

"Bother not. She's just looking for attention."

His fare-hair spun out from his head as he turned to where the voice had come from. That was strange... he had thought that it had come from his left, but the only thing there was a mirror. It must have just been his brain psyching him out or something. Things like this had happened before.

The man looked back at the red-head, who was now being seen to by the tanned teenager from before. All traces of a helpless damsel were gone, aside from the occasional sniff. Real or not, the voice had been right. She was faking it.

"People these days will do anything for the attention of a crowd."

There it was again. Twice in five minutes. The American looked around again, but no one was there. Just him standing next to the mirrors. Could it have been the real ghost?

He turned back to the reflected world in front of him. This time, his blue eyes slowly searched its surface for a face that shouldn't be there.

The muffled voice spoke a third time. "There's no point in looking. I am standing behind your reflection. You cannot see me."

A quick look around to make sure that no one was watching before the man dared to speak. "Hello?"

"Why good day," a sarcastic voice called back. "Really, I thought we skipped the 'how do you do's."

The fair-haired man blinked rapidly and cleaned out his ears with a finger, looked around yet again, and turned back to the mirror in search of the voice's owner.

"I thought I told you, you cannot see me. I am behind your reflection."

"Who are you?" the man whispered.

"Lord Arthur Kirkland, the supposed 'ghost' of the Castle of Mirrors for the last six hundred years. My castle, I might add." The voice now had an arrogant tone to it. "And who are you?"

The college kid was silent for a beat in shock before he grinned and replied, "Alfred F. Jones, American college student."

"Where is this 'American College' place you speak of?"

Alfred frowned, taking a moment to think it all out. Then something dawned on him. "I don't suppose that being stuck here for, like, a hundred years—"

"Six hundred and seventy-two." The voice was not sad, but merely factual. It had succumbed to the reality of its fate a long time ago.

The young American stopped what he was about to say and looked into the mirror. Six _hundred _years?...

"What is wrong?" the voice snapped.

Alfred's eyebrows came together in thought for a second before the expression disappeared. He smiled and looked around the hall, remembering exactly where he was right now and what it must look like to passer-by.

The blond lowered his voice a bit more to ask, "Is there anywhere we can talk that's not so crowded?"

The voice didn't even miss a beat. "I will meet you in the second bedroom on the left when you go up the North Stairway."

"Wait, where?" Too late, the castle ghost had already left.

* * *

Alfred opened a heavy wooden door into a dark room. Inside was a small dusty space that might have once been a guest's quarters, but was now being used as a storage room for the touring company. Even here, the walls had not been spared by the onslaught of mirrors. Though there were considerably less than the rest of the castle that the blond had seen. No one had bothered to clean the few there either.

It was not long before the muffled voice came from somewhere in the dust. "That took you long enough. I thought you'd fallen in the moat or down the sewage hole at this rate."

"Hey, don't blame me if you suck at giving good directions! There's like, twenty different north stairways! That and I kept tripping. Dude, your stairs are all uneven." The college student waved his hands around as if it would help prove his point.

Alfred thought he heard the voice—Arthur—scoff. "The steps are uneven so that any attackers unfamiliar with my castle will fall, while the rest of us can move easily. Clearly, the architects did their job. Furthermore, there are only twelve staircases, and only one is called the North Stairway."

"None of them are called that. There's South, Servants' Stairway, Second-Floor Stairs, and the Grand Stairway, but no North!"

"Well, there is. Whoever created that map is entirely false. There is neither a Grand Stairway, nor a South. They are the First Stairway and the Moor View Stairs, simply incorrectly named."

"...Is there a Stairway to Heaven?" Alfred asked with a cheeky grin.

"...Uh, no..." the voice replied.

"That was completely lost on you, wasn't it?"

"What has been lost?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Never mind." The American found a dusty chair with questionable sturdiness and sat down with a creak.

For a while they were both silent, but Alfred was never one for long periods of quiet, and he soon spoke up. "Hey, so, why can't I see you? I don't mind if you're like, decaying or something. I watch horror movies all the time! Hahaha!"

"I am most certainly not some corpse!" Arthur's voice shouted back, slightly clearer than before. "Look to your left."

Alfred turned and was faced with a mirror a ways away from his chair. Everything beyond the glass looked just the same as before.

"Uh, Arthur—"

The ghost didn't let him finish before he took a couple of steps forward, his image seeming to walk through Alfred's mirrored self. He had braced himself to see a corpse straight out of a horror film. Instead, standing in the tall thin mirror was a good-looking man in old fashion medieval attire. Arthur was of a shorter stature, with a large white shirt under a forest green vest. It appeared that the brown hat on his head was put there in attempt to control every-which-way dirty-blond hair, but the hat was obviously failing to do its job. Above a pair of forest-green eyes rested two caterpillar-like eyebrows that were set in what must be a permanent scowl to complete the picture.

"Are you happy now?" With Arthur standing closer to him, Alfred could hear an English accent that accompanied his voice. It seemed to add something to his appearance, making him seem so very stereotypically British.

Alfred smiled. "Just wanted to see what you looked like, Artie."

The medieval lord opened his mouth to say something, but his eyebrows knitted together and instead he asked, "What did you just call me?"

"Hahahaha! I called you Artie, Artie. Like your nickname?" The college student's laughter was loud and wearing thin on Arthur's patience.

"I like it not in the least bit! You will address me as Lord Arthur, Kirkland, or Sir Arthur, but most definitely _not_ Artie!"

"Ok..." Alfred sounded truly put out about it. Arthur almost went back on what he said when the other grinned and spoke again, "Whatever you say, Artie."

"My name is Arthur, not this 'Artie' you continue to address me as!"

* * *

"One pass for today please," Alfred asked the bored attendant behind the counter. This was Alfred's third trip to the Castle of Mirrors to see Arthur, not including the first trip when they'd met, and if he kept this up, he wouldn't be able to afford his little apartment anymore. They would have to devise a way to get past this whole paying process soon.

It was later that day when he brought up his lack of funds. Apparently Arthur had thought ahead and already had a plan for such an incident.

"When it's time for them to lock up, I will guide you to a storage closet that they never use. From there, you will have to wait about half an hour before you can come out again."

"Half an hour?" Alfred whined.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, a bloody half an hour. I think you'll live."

For the rest of the touring day the two chatted. Alfred had, of course, brought food with him, and while he ate Arthur criticised his choice of a meal. ("What is that? It looks positively disgusting! Ugh, it is positively _loaded_ with fat and grease. Is that even meat?")

When 7:00pm rolled around, the tall American was guided down the corridors by his ghostly friend. It wasn't long before the necessary silence was broken by Alfred's not-so-whispered banter.

"Hey, Arthur? How much further?" he asked.

Arthur turned and glared, holding a finger to his lips as he continued walking.

Not a minute later, "Hey, Artie, dude, are we there yet?"

"Shhh," the medieval lord said while repeating the same actions as before.

"Artie—!"

"Quiet, you insufferable git! You are going to get us caught!" Arthur said in a quiet hiss.

A high-pitched voice filtered down to the pair from the hallway ahead. "Luddy~ I'm tired. Why do we have to have the night shift? Night shifts are boring!~"

"Quiet, Feliciano. I thought I heard someone down that way," another, more masculine, voice replied.

The castle ghost turned to his companion and motioned for him to follow. Now they both moved in silence as the two security guards started walking down an adjacent hall behind them.

A bit more wandering around and a considerable amount of time wasted in whispered arguments later; Alfred was left to hide behind a bookcase in a storage room on one of the upper floors.

"Psssst, Artie." He stage whispered into the dark.

He waited. No response.

The nineteen year old tried again, "Hey... Arthur?"

Still nothing from the ghost-like lord.

Luckily for Alfred, he'd brought his handy iPod for such emergencies as this. Putting both earbuds in, he scrolled through a long list of American bands and singers, peppered with a few British ones as well.

However, there was only so long that he could sit playing the puzzle game he'd recently downloaded without getting a headache. Thus, once again, Alfred was left to see if Arthur was around.

"Arttttiiiie~ Are you in here?" One earbud was swinging on its wire while the other occupied his right ear.

"Luddy! Ve~ I promise you, I just heard someone! This time I'm sure." It was that high-pitched voice from earlier. Now Alfred could detect the traces of an Italian accent, but that didn't matter right now. What matter was that the two security guards were walking toward his hiding spot.

"Arthur, they're coming. Now would kinda be a nice time for you to pop out and show me a secret passageway or something!" Alfred continued to stage whisper, but no one came. Were there any mirrors in here to begin with? The American searched the walls. Sure enough, reflected blue eyes stared back at him from on the wall. There were only blue eyes, though. Not a single green orb watched his panic from behind the glass.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" came a deep voice from the solitary doorway. Was that a German accent? Man, they had people from all over Europe working here!

The now found blond almost forgot that he'd been asked a question. He couldn't come up with any liable excuse for why some random person had been found in the storage room of a famous castle, so he answered with the only other reasonable option.

"I'm here to talk to the castle ghost. I know that sounds stupid and you're probably thinking 'wow, crazy guy!', but Arthur—he's the ghost—isn't that bad, just very lonely, so please, _please_ let me stay here and don't kick me out or report me or something! I promise I'm not a burglar or going to vandalise or something."

There was a pause in which Alfred took the chance to look over the two security guards. One—the German—was tall and muscular with a torch in one hand that pointed to the ground just in front of the American. The light from the torch made it hard for him to see much of either person in the doorway, but the other guard was shorter and slim. His hair had an odd curl to it that seemed to swing out to the right side of his head. How did—

"Ve~ You know Arthur?" the shorter man asked.

Alfred's eyes widened a bit in surprise as he opened his mouth to speak, but the German beat him to it.

"Feli, don't assume things," the tall blond said in a quiet voice to his partner before raising his voice to address the college student, "If you know Arthur, like you say that you do, what does he look like?"

It took a good three seconds before the American could quite get over his temporary bout of shock. Well…Of course the security guards would have run into Arthur at _some_ point over the years.

"For starters, he's short." With the return of his voice, Alfred straightened and became more confident. "Like, way short. He's all dressed in medieval lord stuff—which makes sense. Arthur's got these two _huge_ eyebrows too. They're massive!" his arms waved about as if to emphasize how large the ghost's eyebrows were.

The guard called Feli immediately brightened. "Sí, sí! That's him! Luddy, he has to know Arthur!"

"It would seem so…" The German—Luddy—sounded apprehensive, but he didn't say anything else.

The two security guards stepped back and allowed Alfred to pass by. After aimlessly wandering in one direction because Arthur was still out of sight, the ghost finally made his appearance in the mirror next to Alfred.

"You know, I honestly know not why they keep Feliciano around here. He is almost as bad at his job as the shaggy man who is always falling asleep."

Alfred jumped at the sudden arrival of his recently made friend. "Dude, you _have_ to quit doing that! One of these days I'm gonna jump so badly that I'll swing my arm and smash a mirror or something."

"One of these days I am going to teach you proper grammar. This 'gonna' that you speak of is not a word. I believe you mean 'going to'," Arthur said in a sour voice, but they both knew he was only arguing about it for arguing sake.

The American rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, yeah, threaten me all you want, but when you get out there and have the biggest culture shock of your life because everyone talks 'funny', don't come crying to me."

The hall seems to plummet into deadly silence. Arthur stopped walking and just stared ahead of himself for a while. It took a moment before the other blond realised that he was the only one walking. He turned around just in time to catch the look of utter loneliness and misery hardened into a face void of any emotions.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Instead they simply stood there; one, a long-lost medieval lord trapped in the reflection he used to love, and the other a measly college student living in a foreign country.

Arthur was the first to speak in a quiet, cold voice. "Alfred, I think we both know I'll never get out of here."

It was hard for Alfred not to argue, not to say something like "Of course you will Artie!" or "Don't say that! I'll get you out. I'll be your hero!" Instead, he quickly changed the topic to a much safer subject. The pair continued wandering around the halls with no real destination in mind, just talking. Alfred even coaxed a genuine smile out of the Medieval Englishman.

However, he didn't miss the sad look that graced Arthur's face when he mentioned that he had to leave.

* * *

It would be almost a week later before Alfred dared to mention the touchy subject again. He and Arthur were in the Hall of Mirrors and Arthur was in the giant mirror on one wall that reached up to the high ceiling and was as half wide. They sat on the floor, back to back—a position that the two had adopted as the best way to sit during their long conversations.

Arthur had started off on a long rant about the existence of unicorns when Alfred blurted words out without really meaning to, as he often did.

"I'm going to find a way to get you out of there."

"Withal, simply be thou have n—" The other blond paused mid-sentence and furrowed his thick eyebrows. "What?"

It was too late to back out now. "I said... I'm going to figure out how to get you out of the reflection."

"Lad." There was a sigh, as if he was talking to a small child who didn't understand. "I appreciate the thought, but I came to terms with my sad situation a long time ago," His voice was flat and emotionless once again. Alfred didn't like that.

The American shifted so that his two blue eyes stared at the other's scruffy hair. "I'm serious. I'll find a way."

"And I am too. I tried for years to find a way out, Alfred. I tried for _two_ _hundred years._ If there was a way for me to leave this place, I would have found it," Arthur twisted around so that he met the sky blue eyes straight on, "There is no way out. I've been here six hundred years and I'll be here until all the mirrors in this castle have been broken."

There was a pause. "Then where will you go?"

"I know not... Perchance I would finally die."

They both fell into an edged silence, lost in thought. Alfred wondering about how in hell would he even know where to start looking for a way to Arthur out of the reflections. He would try though. He said he would, and he was a hero—which meant that it's his job to help people. He'd have to be the hero once again.

After that, Alfred would often come to the castle with several books in hand. They'd be about anything from the making of mirrors to common stories and legends from the 1300's. Occasionally, the two ended their night with a cold argument about the growing attempts to retrieve Arthur. When Alfred would ask the other about different things in the reflection world, he was met with a clipped and short response. This led to the college student trying to make the Brit give out information without realising it.

"What is it that has drawn your attention this time?" the grumpy lord asked as Alfred pushed his glasses up his nose and walked down one of the halls carrying several books.

"Actually, these are similar books to some of the ones in your library—" they had once spent an entire night looking at and arguing about the castle book collection, "—so I thought they might shed some light on your problem."

As always, a witty response was in order. "And, pray tell, how must one go about getting one out of a mirror whilst reading about sixteenth century carriages? Hmm?"

The two had automatically started walking toward the grand hall while they spoke. "I don't know! It's possible though. You never know, Artie."

"Oh, really?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

A broad smile made its way across the blond's face. "Really, truly!"

* * *

"What about true love's first kiss?"

"Who's first kiss?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and got ready to explain something to his medieval friend. "You must've not had Disney in the 1300's—"

"What is Disney?"

If he had to try to explain the magical wonder of Disney, there was no way that they'd ever get around to answering the original question. "Later, ok Artie? As I was saying, true love's first kiss is when two people who like each other a lot share their first kiss."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Um...must we...?" Arthur trailed off.

The suggestion sent Alfred into a frenzy, "What?! No! No! Jeez, Artie! I mean two people who _love_ each other. People that are so madly in love that it's power makes miracles happen. Like Beauty and the Beast!"

"Beauty a-and the Beast?"

"Never mind."

"So, you are saying that if I meet someone and I fall in love with them, and then kiss said person, I'll be able to come back to the real world?" Arthur clarified, though he sounded doubtful.

The much more optimistic of the two nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yep! So long as that person loves you back."

The lord's voice took a sarcastic turn as he questioned the blond, "Then there is one problem with your solution. How am I supposed to go about kissing anyone whilst stuck in a completely different world?"

Alfred frowned. "I didn't think of that…"

* * *

"Have you tried a magic spell or something?"

Arthur blinked his eyes awake and raised an eyebrow in question as he lifted his face sleepily. "What?"

"Well…" Alfred was staring out at the reflections high up on the wall with his hands behind his head and an open book in his lap, "You guys had a lot of magic back in 1341, didn't you? Shouldn't there be some spell for this?"

"If there was, then I would have known about it and already be out of these mirrors," the Englishman replied, "I am sure there was one floating around somewhere at the time—or at least a spell that could be modified to fit our needs—but I doubt any record of its existence is around today."

The college student nodded and looked down at worn pages and flowing ink; _Jones's Studies in Common Spells _was written on the first page in an almost unreadable scrawl.

"That's funny…" he wondered out loud as he read the cursive title.

Arthur perked up a bit and shifted to look over his's shoulder. "What is funny?"

"Oh, the guy who wrote this book," he pointed out the name with one finger, "his last name was Jones."

The medieval lord pursed his lips. "Jones. He was a colleague of mine at one point."

"Oh so you knew him?"

"We grew up together. I practically raised him like a little brother when we were children, and we both were very often mistaken for siblings by those that had not known him and me. The two of us grew fond of the magical arts as young adults, but... after that we drifted away, you could say."

The American could hear a bit of melancholy and reminiscence in his voice. He didn't like that sound; it was too sad. "You know my last name is Jones. Now you know two of us! Kinda."

"Kind of," Arthur must have been in a better mood if he was correcting grammar again, "and you could say that the two of you were rather similar. Jones was his last name….Thomas Jones…"

The ancient lord seemed to look at him in a new light before his eyes wandered off over Alfred's shoulder and deep into his own thoughts.

"…Artie, kinda is so a word," he tried to bring the Englishman back from the sad nostalgia with his comment.

It worked—though, maybe it was that they had both needed a topic change. "I barely understand what you are saying half of the time! Mark me well, I care not what era tis, 'kinda' shall never be a word, sirrah!"

As he had continued on ranting, the medieval man had slipped into his original tongue. This had happened only once before when the blond had become worked up about a particular disagreement concerning unicorns.

"…Wha'?" the far more modern American spoke in confusion.

"Bother not. Methinks it would have been wasted counsel on thee anyway."

"Now you're just doing that to confuse me!"

* * *

The Hallway of Mirrors had a ridiculously high ceiling. Not some four-story tall room, mind you, but much taller than the average. Apparently, that was part of what made the short hallway so famous. It was one of the most architecturally sound halls with such a high ceiling from its time. Now, a careful watcher could see where someone had added in a few support beams at the top, and the higher up mirrors were dull with age. Some of them were even missing entirely. If a passer-by looked closely, they might notice that a few of the smaller mirrors has little imperfections. Not all of them were cleaned (that would be absurd, and no one had the money to pay for that many cleaners), many had little cracks, or the framework was chipped. Alfred, who had sat in this hall every night for over a month now, could spot most of the flaws, and any new ones that presented themselves were immediately noticed.

It was on a clear night with a near full-moon, when he and Arthur had fallen silent. Alfred spoke in a quiet voice, as if something might happen if his voice rose above a whisper, "How was the crack on the frame of that mirror made, Artie?" He pointed to one that hung just above head-height across from them.

"I've told you a hundred times by now, my name is Lord Arthur Kirkland. Not Artie."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yea, yea. So, about the crack, Artie?"

There was a tired sigh and the muffled noise of the medieval Englishman turning to look at where his friend was pointing. A hard look crossed his features and his dark green eyes almost seemed to glaze over in the way that Alfred knew meant he was remembering something.

The college student waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Hello? Are you going to answer me or not?"

"Oh, well- ...I remember not..."

It was very tempting to call bullshit, but instead he fell silent. However, Alfred was never one to keep quiet for long. He soon moved on to a new topic of conversation.

"How did you even get stuck in the mirrors?"

"Excuse me?"

The American let out a snort. "Jeez, Artie, you've been off in your own little world today. I asked you a question. How did you get stuck in the reflections?"

There was another heavy pause in the conversation, and Alfred glanced behind his shoulder to make sure that the other was still there. It was then that the medieval lord chose to speak. "I was an arrogant fool..."

"That's not an answer."

"Be patient! I wasn't finished yet..." and with a weary sigh, Arthur began the tale.

"As you know, I used to be a very wealthy lord. I had grown up being told that my wish was everyone's command. I only had to ask for something, and it would be mine. Even the friendship of a wild page-boy." The last words were in a barely audible whisper.

"Wow, that sounds like a paradise..."

The medieval Englishman's head whirled around to stare him down with unkind green eyes. "You know not what you're saying. It was anything but a paradise!"

Alfred frowned and shifted into a more comfortable position before turning back to look at Arthur.

"I became a greedy and self-centred brat," the words were spat out, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth, "No one bothered trying to correct me; not even Jones. My parents were almost never around—off in a war to the north or at one of their other castles—and so my word was law in their absence. One of the servants might have looked at me wrong, and I could have them hanged without a second thought.

"Some people have said that a truly evil person is one that thinks he is right in his doings. They are wrong. When a person knows they are evil, but cares not none the less; that is the real horror.

"After a while, you cared not anymore..." Arthur's voice grew distant and stifled by the glass between them. Alfred suddenly had the urge to hug the helpless looking man as he continued on.

"It was not long before I then became bored with everyone and everything in the castle. Nothing is worth any considerable amount when you only have to spare it a glance and tis yours.

"Then, I came up with a new scheme; something that would pass the lonely hours. By that time, I was the only one living in this castle. Jones slept with the other knights in the barracks. I have not an idea what happened to my parents, nor do I care. Their absence only meant that I had not to share my positions with others.

"I had every mirror maker within my reach ordered to make me his finest mirror. The carpenters were commanded to create beautiful frames for these mirrors. Both areas of craftsmen worked day and night, without pay. When they were done, and the finished masterpieces arrived at the castle, I had servants hang them in this hall for my pleasure.

"Eventually, that was not enough. More mirrors were made. More and more, until all the walls were covered in reflections."

There was a pause in the telling as Arthur drew in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes as he did so, and only began speaking again after opening them. "I attracted... attention from a very old and powerful force. One that did not approve of my greedy actions... I supposed I'd been watched for a great time. Carefully looked after to make sure that I never stepped too far out of line... At that point, I had most definitely stepped _far _out of line."

Alfred did his best to stay silent, but his curiosity about this force and Arthur's knight friend was making him restless. The trapped lord didn't seem to notice, however, and continued speaking.

"Jones saw it first. He came running straight to the castle in order to warn me, but I listened not. That is, not until it was too late. He had gone to the villagers, told them of the danger so that they might flee. They, of course, instead stormed the castle in a riot. With a mob of angry people banging on the castle's outer gate, I fled to my treasured hall, the place where everything had begun... And then the place where it ended."

A long silence stretched out as the two looked around the hall in which they sat. This must have been where it all ended, Alfred realised. He gazed around at the reflected walls before asking the first question that came to mind. "What was it that trapped you in the mirrors? You never really said."

Arthur looked at Alfred and raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "Do you honestly wish to know?" his voice held a sarcastic tone to it.

There wasn't even a second of hesitation before the college student answered, "Yep. If I'm going to be your hero and get you out of there, then I want to know what I'm up against."

"...Iwastrappedbyadragon." The mirror's glass muffled the words until the reply was an unintelligible slur.

"What?"

"A _dragon_, you prat! I was trapped here by a bloody dragon! Have you seen the problem _now_?!"

Alfred blinked away his surprise and glanced back to the old scratch on the mirror frame that had originally drawn his attention. Now when he looked at it, he could imagine how a claw might have carelessly scrapped across the ornate wood, or simple tilt of the head from such a beast might have caused a horn to nick the framing. There were little places like that all over the hall, come to think of it.

"...So does this mean that I get to be a knight in shining armour who slays the dragon to save the prin—"

"You dare not finish that sentence."

* * *

**_End of Part 1_**


	2. Part 2

Alfred had become nocturnal. Or, very close. His schedule had boiled down to: wake up at lunchtime, do the morning routine of showering and eating, go to work—a job at a Starbucks that paid just enough to get by—, come home, eat/study for his three online classes/take a nap, and then sneak up the hill to the Castle of Mirrors where he'd stay, sometimes until very early the next morning. Rinse, and repeat.

In Arthur's long absence, the once secluded village had become what one might call a small city. There weren't any giant clock towers or postcard perfect giant bridges, but the sprawling three and four-story buildings occupied a considerable part of the valley. Carts pulled by donkeys had been replaced with old trucks with trailers. There was still the occasional passer-by on horseback in the outer parts of town or foxes that found themselves wondering past buildings instead of tall hills. The old cobblestone paths still covered several of the original roads, though, and sagging clotheslines hung from many a window.

When he wasn't trying to find a new way to free Arthur, the American was slowly showing him different things from the "New Age". This had first come about when Alfred had received a text during one of his visits to the medieval lord.

"What was that noise?"

"Oh, I got a text." The college student reached behind him to slide his well-worn phone from his back pocket. Smoothly clicking the side button and sliding his thumb across the surface, blue eyes scanned the screen that reflected back in his wire-framed glasses.

Arthur stayed quiet, but curiously peeked over the shoulder of his friend's bomber jacket covered form leaning against the mirror. He watched as the screen changed and moved when Alfred slide his fingers over the smooth surface.

'_hey dude, hows brit life? havnt hurd frm u n 4eva'_

The Englishman tilted his head and puzzled over the very confusing jumble of letters. He glanced to Alfred, who didn't appear phased by such a strange language.

"…What is that?" he finally asked as the object's surface turned dark once again. A pale hand started to reach out toward it, but was met with the ever cold barrier between them.

"A phone," Alfred looked back over his shoulder and shifted so that he faced the reflected hall. He held up his smartphone, "It calls people and stuff."

"Calls?"

"Yea, well, hmmm…" How to explain? Where to even _start_? "Ok, so how it works is you type in someone's phone number—"

Their experience with Alfred's phone made him realise exactly how big of a culture shock Artie would get when he walked outside. He did a little research—which took a while, because it wasn't like guys from the 1300's suddenly appeared in modern day all the time—and gulped when he found out that the culture shock could actually _kill_ Arthur if they weren't careful.

From then on they slowly worked on familiarising the Brit to modern things. He already knew little random titbits from observing the tourists and security guards over the years, but that still left a large gap in knowledge to be filled.

Eventually, the security guards became very interested in the strange friendship between the castle "ghost" and the college student that snuck in at night. Sometimes one of them would stop by and briefly chat with the pair during rounds, or bring a welcomed cup of coffee to Alfred; once, Feliciano even brought them homemade pasta.

All was well, and life had a new turn to it. Arthur and Alfred were swiftly becoming friends with bonds as strong as if they'd grown up with each other.

Alfred continued to smile and laugh obliviously, but the other knew that one day he'd leave this place. That the blond man with the wire-framed glasses and handsome features would grow tired of this fruitless search for a way to bring them both in the same world and leave. One day, he'd die and Arthur would be alone once again, but instead with a cloud of depressed thoughts and melancholy.

Time seemed to pass with alarming speed. Alfred's savings had dried out a while ago, and his small job serving coffee wouldn't pay the bills much longer. Old friends were wondering where he'd gone, and his parents were demanding to know if he'd gone out and done anything with his life yet. The real world was catching up to him, and then passing by altogether.

Life had become two separate halves; the half of essays, demands, and money, and the half with Arthur. Soon, he had to stay home on Mondays. Those 2:00am nights turned into 1:30, and he was leaving earlier.

"I'm sorry Artie, but my boss is getting on my case for coming in so tired."

"My professors are demanding more work now, I'm getting really busy. Sorry, Art."

"The apartment rent's gone up. I've got to take more shifts. You understand, right Artie?"

The ancient lord knew it was selfish—Arthur was practically the king of selfishness and vanity, what did it matter?—but he wanted Alfred to stay. This strange, cheerful person made a miserable and lonely existence bright. It sounded like a line from some love-struck village girl's diary, though it was the truth.

Was this like such a love? He smirked at the thought. Ridiculous; it was only greed.

* * *

Alfred shivered in his bomber jacket. The tourist season was long over, and winter frost now coated the grass when he left the castle at night. The air in front of his face billowed white steam from his warm breath. The scenery around him was as familiar as his own apartment or the child's room in his parents' house back in New York. The American glanced back at the large town below. That room was a whole ocean away now. Strange.

The small Asian man who stood in the front hall bowed as the blond closed the door behind him. "_Konichiwa_, Alfred-san."

"Hi, Kiku," he replied cheerfully. Of all the guards, Kiku was the one that Alfred knew the most. They'd met a while back in town—though briefly—at his work. When you work as the town's main caffeine supply, you get to know a little bit of everyone. Cold, gloved hands searched in the messenger bag that he had thrown over one shoulder. "Thanks for the manga, by the way."

The other nodded as he was handed four Japanese style books. "My pleasure. Would you like the next in that series?"

"Yea. I really liked it."

Feliciano walked in from one of the corridors that lined the wall. When he saw the familiar night-time visitor he smiled and waved. "Ve~ Alfred! _Ciao_!"

"Hey, Feli. Know where Artie is?" the blond asked as he put away two newly acquired manga volumes.

The Italian motioned for Alfred to follow him. "_Sí_, this way."

They travelled through recognisable passageways. The uneven steps that used to trip him were nowadays easily traversed. The castle had slowly becoming a second home; much more welcomed than the small apartment where things were expected of him.

"Good even, Alfred," came the always stifled voice of Lord Arthur.

"Artie! I think I found it! I was looking around in the town library, and found a book that might be what we're looking for." Their meetings always started like this. The Brit would greet his friend politely, and the latter would launch into the explanation of his latest theory on how to get Arthur out of the reflected world in the mirrors.

They'd gone through many experiments at this point. Failed attempts at bringing Arthur back were among them, but mostly these investigations were about different aspects of the world in reflections.

The pair had found out that windows and metals worked as reflectors, though only for short periods, water didn't—possibly because of the moving surface. If a mirror was moved around, then Arthur had to move as well, he couldn't simply stand there. When the lord dropped out of one reflection, he instantly appeared in the next reflection that would show wherever he'd just walked to. From Arthur's standpoint he was wandering around an empty castle where all of the outer doors were locked. Some rooms—old storage rooms mostly—were also locked because there weren't any mirrors inside.

Once, Alfred had tried to take a mirror from the wall and carry Arthur outside, but when they'd neared the doorway, the lord started feeling dizzy. When the glass surface had been carried within two metres of the wooden entrance he'd been sick. They didn't talk about that night. Failed experiments were not to be mentioned again. It was a taboo between them.

Oh, but there were so many. Futile try after futile try…

* * *

It was another ordinary night. Being Saturday night, Alfred had neither work, nor school the next day. Saturday nights were a special treat because he could stay for as long as he wanted. They also did experiments on Saturdays.

Lately, Alfred had gone back to the idea of magic. Arthur was always going on about its existence and importance, so why not? He'd picked up a couple old books from the used book store in town to start them off. While leafing through one, the American suddenly came to an idea.

"What if we summoned the dragon? Couldn't we get him to let you out?"

Arthur shook his head. "We have already been over this, Alfred. He flew off. I have not an idea where the dragon is, if he will help, or even if he is still around."

Alfred frowned. "But, don't dragons live forever or something?"

There was a scoff from behind him. "Of course not! One—no matter the species—cannot live forever. Dragons simply live a very long time; far longer than a human."

"So, where is he?" the blond persisted.

"I told you! I know not! He is most likely somewhere that holds a great deal of magical power and is secluded from human contact. Dragons were never very social creatures. Not very much is known about them, or at least, in my time there wasn't much. I know not about the present." Arthur looked expectantly at Alfred, trying to scowl in order to hide his curiosity, "Tell me, have you lot learnt more about dragons in the recent? I'm sure with all of this... what was the word? Tech— technology now a days it is much easier to find them."

A guilty look crossed Alfred's face. "Well... Actually..."

"What?" The Englishman was starting to get a bit snappish, but mostly concerned.

"No one really believes in dragons anymore, Artie. They're mythical creatures. Not real. Your story was the first time I've heard someone say that they saw one, and it took a while for me to actually believe that you were punished by a _dragon_ of all things." Though it made sense that a medieval lord would say something like that, come to think of it...

Arthur's eyebrow twitched a bit. "What about unicorns? They were always more friendly and helpful creatures."

"Nope. Mythical. Never seen one in my life."

"Brownies?"

"I doubt you're talking about the dessert, so no. Do they make brownies or something? That would be awesome!"

"What about the fae?!" The already pale skin of Arthur's face was becoming bleaker by the second.

"The what?"

"Faeries!" His friend was clearly still not getting it, and Arthur practically lost it, his muffled voice taking on a panicky quality. "The Fae! Wee folk! Pixies! For God's sake, tell me not that you have forgotten about the fairies!"

"Mythical."

The medieval lord's face went blank as a sheet. He looked like someone had just told him that the Earth was going to end tomorrow. It was extremely difficult not to laugh, but instead Alfred smirked and adopted a thicker, Western American accent. "Well, shoot. Things have really changed for ya, ain't they, Artie?"

"Oh, be quiet!"

Despite seeming to not have taken Arthur seriously, Alfred soon traded out the magic books for ones on dragons. Being as so many different myths and ideas had come up in the last six hundred years about the beasts, he had the other blond help check for accuracy.

They worked quickly, with Arthur dismissing unreliable sources easily with the reason of, "I may have been a spoiled brat, Alfred, but I knew knowledge was power. Magic was my speciality, so naturally I would know about the great race of dragons."

Before long, the two of them had gone through several dozens of books about the flying lizards, and a couple wilderness books about the surrounding area. Alfred had bought a map in town. He would often lay it out on the floor—a stack of books at each corner—and mark with a pen different places where the dragon could possibly be.

It didn't take long until they had agreed on two possible locations. One was a rocky moor to the south-east, and the other was a small forest to the direct north a couple of miles. Arthur said that the moor was the more likely, considering that the rocks could easily cover up the entrance to a cave. However, Alfred argued that a forest would be able to hide the dragon's comings and goings better. While dragons could keep unwanted attention from themselves using magic, they were sometimes vulnerable when taking off or landing, due to the shift and concentration.

With that knowledge, they started to make plans.

* * *

About a month later, Alfred was able to get Saturday and the following Monday off from work, and somehow managed to finish up his homework the day before. With a goodbye to Arthur, he started the long drive from the village of Clarkson to a town by the name of Kestling that bordered the northern edge of the forest and was the easiest entrance.

He arrived in Kestling by noon and bought a room at the local hotel. After eating lunch and unpacking a bit, Alfred started on a hike into the trees to begin his search.

Arthur had described the dragon to him, suggesting what type it was and from where. The lord had also told his friend how to spot a dragon's den. It was a good thing too, because the American's idea of a dragon's lair was a giant cave full of gold and bones inside of a mountain. Apparently, that wasn't true. Most dragons had much smaller, less extravagant hideouts that weren't as obvious.

It didn't take but five minutes tromping around under the tall trees before Alfred realised that this was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he'd first thought.

Sure, England's forests were little groves of trees compared to the vast, majestic ones back home, but they were still big enough that finding the dragon hideout's entrance would take hours, if not _days_.

_"Usually dragons attract other magical creatures such as the fae, or maybe even a unicorn. If you find one of them, then you're probably on the right track."_

Well, first things first, he needed to try and find a fairy or something. Arthur said that they liked sweets, so...

Alfred reached into his pack and brought out a jar half full of honey. He also took out some sugar-water and a small cake he'd bought from the inn's little café. It didn't take long for him to find a "fairy friendly habitat"—a small grove of clovers and flowers that had sprung up on a stream's mossy bank. Crouching down, the fare-haired man began to open the honey. Supposedly, the key was to be casual. He had to make himself the prime target for mischief without actually _being_ the prime target.

How that all worked out, Alfred had no clue, but Arthur had given him a bit of a script to go by, and he dutifully stuck to it.

"Oh, damn," he cursed quietly, "Clive switched out my water with sugar water, the little cheek."

Careful not to look too closely, he let his eyes scan around the stream before going back to his bag. After rummaging around, the college student let out a grown of disappointment.

"He stole my sandwich, too!"

Something off to his left rustled a bush, but the "actor" pretended not to notice. Thank his high school drama teacher for her knack of drilling her students into character.

The ever oblivious Alfred continued to mutter and generally complain about his misfortunes to thin air. It wasn't until a twig snapped loudly that he went quiet and looked up.

_"The first thing any fairy or brownie will do is cause a distraction. From there they will try to lead you away from your goods. If they don't accomplish that, but continue watching you, then they are bound to go in and sneak around you."_

Another twig snapped, and the college student craned his neck to try and get a better look; "accidentally" falling backwards in the process.

Picking himself up, the confident blond brushed off any leaves or moss before crouching down again. He took the cool bottle and downed a swig, wincing as if he'd forgotten about the sugar.

"Yuck, this stuff tastes horrible!" Alfred pouted, glimpsing a small flash of white in his peripheral vision. Surely they'd try to get the food by now...

Everything seemed to happen all at once after that. Alfred looked back to the food, and perched on the edge of the jar with an arm in the honey, was a fairy. He reached out to grab the lid with one hand, and quickly pushed the little creature into the jar, covering the top. A muffled cry came from the jar, and a small fist beat on the young American's hand. Still trying to find the lid, Alfred yelped as something pinched his palm.

He looked at the jar accusingly, "Did you just _bite_ me?!"

The little fairy smirked. It said something, but the noise was too quiet for the human to hear.

Giving up on finding the lid, Alfred took a moment to look at his catch a bit closer.

While still fairly small, the fairy was bigger than he'd first thought. Its wings were a silvery white with dark grey veins and small red tips. Its hair was the same white as its wings, scruffy, and short. Two tiny eyes glared up at him, and Alfred almost gasped when he noticed that they were crimson red.

_"Remember, the fae travel in groups. Simply because one appears to be alone, does not mean that it is alone."_

The young American looked up and scanned the surrounding bushes. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "I know there are more of you out there. I know it doesn't look like it, but I mean you no harm—"

"No harm?" a voice scoffed, "if you indeed mean 'no harm', then why is Gilbert trapped in your honey jar?"

Alfred's head swung around toward the noise and was met with a fairy hovering just out of arm's reach to his left. The fairy had deep purple butterfly wings with black edges. He—the voice sounded masculine, if not a bit above-it-all—was dressed in what appeared to be a small tailcoat and trousers made from velvet coloured leaves.

"Are you done gawking, or have you lost your speaking capabilities?" the little winged person asked.

"Uh, what? Oh— no. I'm fine. It... it just takes a bit getting used to. Seeing fairies and stuff. You are fairies right? Not sprites or something. Oh, wait. Sprites don't have wings." Alfred clamped his mouth shut before it could continue the unintelligible rambling.

"Yes, yes, we are fairies. Now, as much of a pain he is, release Gilbert!" Alfred blinked and looked down at the jar that he still had covered. The pale fairy inside was starting to look a bit dizzy. Why would he be dizzy?

Oh, crap! He probably didn't have any air in there! The blue-eyed man quickly moved his thumb so that there was enough room for air to get in, but not for his catch to get out.

"I said let him go!" This other fairy in front of him was being very huffy.

"Not until you tell me where the dragon's lair is," Alfred threatened. He didn't want to hurt these creatures, but he had to rescue Arthur. The sooner, the better.

"The what?" the purple-winged fairy said. His voice and actions had an I'm-above-you air to them that reminded the American of the lord sitting back at the castle waiting for him.

The muffled, and scratchy, voice of the pale fairy in the jar spoke up. "Hey Roderich; is he talking ab—"

"We know of no dragon here!" The other one spoke over his red-eyed friend, glaring and folding his arms.

Alfred frowned. He'd been getting somewhere, but this snooty one was getting in the way. Gilbert—the fairy had addressed the one in the jar Gilbert—seemed to know something.

"I think you're lying."

"Oh really," the one that Gilbert called Roderich raised a miniature eyebrow, "and where is your proof?"

"Well... What was the pale fairy going to say?"

"Hey! I have a name! It's awesome and it's Gilbert!" the trapped fairy interrupted.

"What was _Gilbert _going to say?" Alfred corrected himself.

Roderich took a moment to glare down at Gilbert before speaking. "Fine. If you must know there is a dragon here. But I'll warn you, he only speaks with people he deems to have a worthy cause."

"I'm here for a friend. He has business with the dragon," Alfred said.

Gilbert interjected his own comment before either could say anything. "If he's so important, than why didn't your friend come here himself?"

"Well, he's... ill."

The free fairy alighted down on Alfred's knee, pointing at the jar. "You got your information. Release Gilbert."

Alfred shook his head, waving a finger. "No no. You still haven't answered my question. Where is the dragon?"

"Keep walking along this stream. You'll reach a bigger one that leads to a pond. There's a big oak tree there next to some boulders. The entrance should be there," Gilbert instructed, "You'll have to look closely and be careful. He's got the place crawling with traps."

"Down to the pond next to the oak and watch out for traps. Got it!"

"Can you let me go now? I'm practically swimming in honey. Which is awesome, but flying home will not be."

Alfred released the very sticky and messy fairy. He packed up, said goodbye, and was soon on his way again.

By the time he reached the main creek, the sun was starting to go down and the forest was getting dark. The American knew he wouldn't be able to find his way back tomorrow, so he continued on toward the pond.

It didn't take long to reach it, and once Alfred got there he realised that the so called "pond" was really a small lake.

"So much for asking the fairies for directions," he muttered.

Looking around, there didn't seem to be any particularly large trees, let alone ones standing next to some boulders. Gilbert had warned him it would be hard to find though, so Alfred started walking along the shore. He was just about to give up on the search and head back when out of the corner of his eye the blond thought he saw what he was looking for.

Leave it to a fairy to give poor directions. First of all, the tree was quite a ways up the bank from the lake. Secondly, the mentioned boulders were more like large rocks and a small cliff. At the base of the cliff was a sunken hole that led down into the earth at a steep slope.

Though Gilbert's instructions had been faulty so far, Alfred kept an eye out for any traps in the leaves that covered the forest floor. It paid off; he avoided a hole that had been covered by mud and sticks. Unfortunately, by jumping aside, he'd landed into a... well, he didn't really know what it was.

Ten before unnoticed sticks were stuck in the ground in a circle around the traveller. Each was pointed and together they made a low humming noise. A dead vine was tied from the base of each stake to the two next to it in a continuous circle. The sticks and dead plants themselves appeared to be harmless. It was the magic bound to them that caused Alfred so much trouble.

Alfred tried stepping out of the circle, but it was as if he hit a brick wall every time he tried to pass outside of the vines' formation. He picked up a twig and tried to pass it over the barrier, but it bent aside. This happened all around the circle without change.

"Crap..." Alfred cursed. What was he going to do now? Wait for the dragon to come and see what it had caught?

He thought back to the advice Arthur had given him before he had left. With all of his warnings and cautions, the lord hadn't bothered telling Alfred what to do if he happened to get stuck in one of the traps.

"Crap..." he repeated, throwing the stick at the barrier only to have it bounce back at him.

It was almost a half an hour later when it hit him—quite literally. Alfred had laid back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of a way to get out of the trap. In the ever darkening forest, he had neither seen the large tree overhead, nor noticed the fact that said tree was an acorn tree. This caused Alfred to look above him and realise his escape plan had been hanging over his head this entire time.

Alfred quickly stood. He jumped up, trying to grab the branch that grew oh so nicely overtop of the magic circle. It took six attempts before he was able to pull part of the tree limb down inside of his cylinder of space.

Being a very active child, Alfred had climbed many trees in his time, but always from around the trunk and strong branches. It was only after he bent the branch down against the invisible barrier that Alfred was able to scramble his way up into the acorn tree.

After a few seconds rest in the tree, he jumped down and continued on his way to the dragon's cave. Another half an hour was spent carefully manoeuvring his way to the rocks and cliff that marked the way in. The cave's entrance was a darker shade of black in the forest night. Somewhere inside water dripped, echoing until it sounded like a small rainstorm.

"Should have brought an umbrella..." The hiker muttered before walking inside.

Despite being so dark, it wasn't too difficult to follow the tunnel down into the dragon's lair. The walls were wide, but Alfred was able to brush his hand along one to guide himself. At one point he stopped walking to take a break. Listening closely, he could hear something breathing. Something _enormous._

"Should have brought a flashlight with the umbrella…" Alfred added quietly. His voice echoed off the cave walls.

It wasn't until three minutes of walking that the American found the breathing's source. At this point it was more of a breeze every now and then accompanied by a most comfortable sigh. Both of the tunnel's walls fell away and the dripping noise echoed as if a cavern lay just ahead.

_Should you happen upon the dragon while he is asleep, make sure to be very careful. Just as any other creature, dragons are very grumpy when they are woken up. If angered, they won't hesitate to kill you on the spot._

It would have been nice if Arthur had given him a bit more specific instructions on this than those two sentences, but that was what he had to work with.

Being a naturally bright person Alfred immediately started searching for a small rock he could throw.

Luckily for him, dragons are relatively light sleepers. After tripping over something in the darkness and causing a loud crash, Alfred heard an amplified version of someone shifting and yawning after having just woken up. He was quick to scramble up before the dragon could fully wake and set his intruder on fire for his troubles.

"Who is there?" a curious, but still sleepy voice asked before the cave was suddenly lit.

The dragon lying before him was definitely _not_ what Alfred had expected. Instead of a giant winged lizard with brilliant flaming red scales and battle scars, this dragon was dark crimson. He (Was it a he? That voice was awfully feminine.) was lengthy like the Asian dragons that supposedly lived in the East. The long body was built like a snake's with the addition of two pairs of legs. There was a long mane of black trailing from the top of its head to its shoulders—which was a considerable distance. Two ears, as well as a pair of long curving horns, protruded from the top of the dragon's scaly head.

"What do you have to say for yourself? I was dreaming rather nicely, you know." The dragon yawned again for effect. In doing so, the dragon showed off several rows of knife-like teeth and a forked red tongue.

"W-well," Alfred stuttered and gulped. There was no need to panic; just talking to a giant dragon that could probably kill him with a flick of its curved talons. No biggy. He steeled himself before continuing. "I'm here in the name of Lord Arthur Kirkland. I believe you once—"

"Oh. You're here for him are you? Well I'm not helping him." The dragon started to lie down once again, turning his back on the small mortal.

Alfred took a couple steps forward, waving his hands. "No! No, wait! Hear me out, ok? He's completely different now. He's really nice, and friendly, and a good person, and—"

The Eastern dragon opened one eye in interest. "Really? Are you sure? I have been tricked before. I won't take kindly for it to happen again." The last words came out in a cautioning growl.

Alfred nodded in earnest. He moved to sat down on a rock before continuing. "At first he seems grouchy and rude, but Artie's pretty friendly once he warms up to you. Your punishment has done its job, so now you can release him. I promise I'll keep an eye on him if you want. I could stay with him or something. We're pretty good friends."

He didn't notice, but by the end, Alfred was smiling at the thought of spending more time with Arthur if the dragon requested that he kept a watch on the lord.

The dragon could see. It was plain as day. This strange boy was willing to risk his life for the freedom of the selfish lord from all those years ago. It did not take long before he came to his conclusion.

"...I will do it—" The American's face lit up with great happiness and joy. "—on one condition."

The blond was on his feet now. He barely even paused before agreeing. "Of course. I'll do anything! What is it?"

"You must take care of him. The world has changed since he last set foot on its brown dirt. If he doesn't have someone to help guide him, I fear he would fall back into old ways."

"You have a deal, dragon."

Without warning, the dragon shifted, changing into a Chinese man with black hair wearing a red shirt with large sleeves.

The man smiled, offering a hand to the astonished college student. "Please. Call me Yao."

The two walked out of the dark cave, Yao keeping a sphere of light drifting above their heads. By the time they reached the lake, the sun had long ago set and the forest was dark. It was a long trek back to the town of Kestling. Alfred was dead tired. He immediately crashed, not minding what the other did while he slept, just as long as he got some rest.

The next morning Alfred awoke to the sound of something boiling in a pot and a spoon hitting the side. The noise reminded him of waking up to his mom cooking breakfast when he was little. That seemed so long ago. He could really go for some pancakes right about now.

"Good morning Alfred. Slept well, have you?" Yao asked as he put the lid on the pot, "Breakfast will be another three minutes."

Alfred blinked awake before stretching and walking over to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Five minutes later the two were sitting at the small kitchen table, the blond with coffee in one hand and the dragon sipping at a cup of black tea he'd found in the cupboard. In front of each of them was a steaming bowl of some sort of rice porridge.

"What is it?" Alfred asked, poking a chunk of meat with his spoon.

"It's called congee. Eat up."

Despite his scepticism, the American ate two bowls of the dish before getting ready for the day.

They checked out of the small hotel, earning a few strange looks from the staff; who were probably wondering why the perky stranger was being followed out by a Chinese man that certainly _hadn't_ been there yesterday when he checked in. After that it was a quick twenty minute drive from Kestling to Clarkson, another five before they arrived at the castle parking lot.

It was the middle of the touring season once again. The Castle of Mirrors happened to be open to the public that day. After parking the car and glaring at the happy family walking past them, Alfred cursed loudly.

"Of course! Now we have to wait!"

Yao stayed silent, watching his driver hit the steering wheel.

There were several quiet seconds of seething and pouting before Alfred got out of the car. "I'm going in. Wait for me here; shouldn't take long."

He gave a nod to Feliciano selling tickets as he slipped into the castle's grand halls. It didn't take long before he was able to find one of the many empty rooms.

Not a second after the door had shut and locked before Arthur appeared, trying hard not to seem too anxious. "Did you find him?"

All the anger melted away. Alfred smiled, putting two palms to the cold surface between them. "Yeah, it took me a bit of persuading, but he's gonna help you out, Artie. This time tomorrow you'll be free."

Arthur was too happy to bother correcting the other's grammar. His eyes shined. He looked as if he was about to jump around like a preteen girl.

Neither man spoke. They just smiled and watched each other. There was nothing to say. Nothing they could do to express what was going on. It'd just about been a year since the met, but they acted like they'd been friends for much longer. Was this really it? Was this the end of all their troubles?

* * *

Alfred and Yao waited until all of the tourists and daytime staff left. Few cars were in the parking lot when the two headed inside. The sun dipped below the distant hills as they walked through the reflected halls.

Yao took the lead. He guided them to the Hallway of Mirrors. No matter how many nights he spent there, Alfred would never stop being amazed at the beauty of that hall in the moonlight. Each frame was a shade of blue grey and the red rug that ran over the cold stone floor was a river of deep red. The scene was reflected a thousand times in the mirrors and on an occasional window.

They stopped in front of the largest of the mirrors; its surface stretching far above their heads. Arthur was standing there, waiting in its detailed golden frame. He met eyes with Yao, arms crossed, but eyes hopeful. "Are you really going to do this? It isn't some trick?"

"Not a trick, no. I have thought things through. Alfred has convinced me that you have changed your old ways. He promises to guide you and I believe I can trust him."

Alfred watched the exchange from the side-lines. He stood stiff in case if he had to intervene. The dragon and lord were staring each other down with cold eyes when Yao broke the heavy silence.

"I'm surprised by your pick. Rather like _him_, wouldn't you say?"

Thought the American wasn't following, Arthur answered immediately. "Yes, he is indeed. That is not why he is present though."

They must have been talking about him, because both ancient beings turned toward the mere college student that watched on; Yao with calculating eyes and Arthur with a kind, unidentifiable gaze that made Alfred feel warm inside.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he asked.

The dragon nodded, turning back to Arthur and raising an eyebrow to which the lord nodded to. "Ready."

Alfred took a couple steps back. Yao closed his eyes, bowed his head, and raised his arms. A deep hum echoed in the hall. Without actually glowing, he seemed to radiate a light that cast soft shadows on the rug-covered ground. Everything was quiet except for that hum, which started to sound more like a murmured melody than a magic spell. After several minutes ticked by, Yao raised his head, holding out one hand toward Arthur.

"The gateway is open now. You have been released from that world." The statements rang out through the silent hall, heavy with their meaning for the long imprisoned man. He had been set free.

The lord extended one arm as if in a trance and firmly grasped the other's outstretched arm. He was hauled forward. Yao stepped aside, giving the lord and his friend some space.

At first they simply stared. Then they uncertainly reached out, brushing fingers. The contact set off a spark, as suddenly Arthur was engulfed in a mess of a tall blonde. Alfred pulled back, grasping Arthur's face in both of his hands before planting a big sloppy kiss on the Brit.

"I'm so happy you're here," he said.

Arthur smiled. "I know."

* * *

Love can bring people together as easily as it breaks people apart. It has the power to crush some and mend broken hearts. Love is a force to be reckoned with. It has shaped history, caused wars, toppled kingdoms, and even been the death of many. Every person has felt love's effects—if not first-hand than they have seen its effects on those around them.

Alfred and Arthur went home that warm summer night to Alfred's small apartment. After Arthur's freeing, the two became almost inseparable. After slowly familiarising Arthur to the modern world, the couple moved to London. From there Alfred finished his year of online university and enrolled in a local college. He graduated a couple years later. They then flew to America, travelling around Alfred's home country before settling down, getting married, and opening up a bookstore and café named Castle Library. Not one person that ever met Alfred and Arthur doubted their love for each other.

There are many tales of the disasters and misery love can cause.

However, I am proud to say, that in this story...

They lived happily ever after.

* * *

_**The End**_

_Author's Note: _There is a likely chance that in the future I will expand on this story or make a drabble in the same universe. If a drabble is made it will be uploaded either as a separate piece and a note will be made at the top of Part 1. If a new scene is added, then it will go into the original story and also have a note at the top of Part 1. I'm doing this to make sure that readers can continue to stay up to date If you have any questions, put them in your review or message me. I'd be happy to reply.

Thank you for reading!


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